


Dog Walking

by Dbaw3



Series: Barking Hills [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Other, Pet Play, Pet Stiles Stilinski, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 10:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dbaw3/pseuds/Dbaw3
Summary: Weird shit happened in Beacon Hills.





	Dog Walking

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr as a standalone story.

Weird shit happened in Beacon Hills. John had been one with that idea, even before he knew about werewolves.

What was always weirder, though, was how most everyone just seemed to accept it as normal. People SHOULD find the mortality rate disturbing, but it was just shrugged off and accepted as part of life in the area.

So, maybe it shouldn’t have been a shock that when 10% of the populace started acting like dogs, people only initially freaked out, then started licensing them like they were dogs.  
Which was how John found himself standing with Derek discussing arrangements, while Stiles looked up at them from the floor–glared, more appropriately, as he didn’t care for his new muzzle.

“So, as we discussed,” Derek was saying, pulling off a receipt and handing it to John, “I’ll come by every morning to take Stiles for a walk around the neighborhood, then come back in the afternoon for a longer walk to the park. And since you paid for the deluxe service, we’ll also provide bitch soothing three times a week.”

 

It was, according to Deaton, a pixie attack. The pack had taken care of the threat, but the effects were permanent. The effect seemed to be not the same for everyone, though. Some just had increased urges to please and the desire to chase cars. Some went all the way to growing hair and even, in a few cases, a tail.

With Stiles, it wasn’t anything so obvious, at first. John put it down to the fact that Stiles always wanted to please him, already. And he tended to fall asleep in weird positions no matter what, so when he found him once or twice sprawled half on the couch, half on the floor passed out, it was weird, but not that strange. When he started to spend more time in the evenings sitting on the floor at John's feet, rather than on the couch, it wasn't that weird.

It was pretty definitive, though, coming home from work one day and finding Stiles down on all fours in the backyard, happily getting fucked by some stray mutt who had wandered through the neighborhood.

“God, yes, gimme your knot, fucking breed me,” he was saying, the dog doing his damndest to comply, it seemed, as it rammed its cock so hard into Stiles, Stiles' knees slipped on the wet grass. 

Unfortunately, John was so stunned, he couldn't make himself move until the mutt did tie with Stiles, which John knew mostly from the shout of happiness Stiles gave, and the sudden stillness of the dog on his back.

When he could move, John angrily went to grab the garden hose, so he could get the two separated, yelling at Stiles the whole time.

John admitted, he probably could have handled that better.

After he'd calmed down, and Stiles dried off (the dog had quickly run off, when given half the chance, and Stiles only threw a longing look in the direction he'd fled), they had a long talk. Yes, Stiles had been aware of his growing urges, but they'd not seemed strange, even as he had made his own lunch, put it in a bowl, and eaten it on all fours, without his hands, on the kitchen floor that afternoon. 

Stiles was one of the lucky ones, though: he still seemed to be mostly Stiles, and retained the ability to talk, he just now did it from all fours, and seemed to have an insatiable desire for dog cock.

Deaton had explained, at the first and most surreal visit and conversation with the vet John had ever thought he’d have with the man, that Stiles had been converted internally to not just a dog, but a bitch.

“And a very fertile one at that, Sheriff,” Deaton had explained. “I’m actually surprised he hasn’t caught with a litter already, if what he's said about his recent...activities is any indication.”

Stiles, who was dressed again after his exam, but back to sitting on the floor next to John's chair, just shrugged and looked not remotely ashamed about his admission of the encounters he'd had not just with the mutt John had caught him with, but one of the neighbor's rottweiler, and even a Pekingnese he'd tried to suck off recently behind a convenience store in town. 

“I’d suggest you make some decisions before his first heat, about what you want to breed him with,” Deaton continued.

John knew Stiles getting bred was inevitable, and making the conscious choice of at least what bred his son wasn't a bad idea, but he also wasn’t ready to make those decisions, so he’d had Deaton clamp one of those “puppy protectors” and a “pussy protector” they were selling now (a cock cage and butt plug/tail respectively, which were required for all hu-puppies in public these days) on to Stiles, and get him some birth control pills, stat.

Unfortunately, since his was a magical transformation, not a natural one, there apparently weren’t a lot of options to keep John from being hip deep in grand puppies, as Stiles liked to refer to his future offspring (mostly with longing). Then Deaton had mentioned Derek’s new business.

The logo he’d chosen, which was on the white tank top Derek was wearing, said “Derek’s Hu-Pup Services” and showed a silhouette of a man walking a hu-pup on a leash. Mostly, it was essentially going to be dog-walking, Derek explained, but for the few who needed it, he was offering…other services. 

Specifically, since the change, there were only a couple of those who, like Stiles, became full bitches, with an insatiable urge to be mated. While some had already decided to enter the lucrative field of breeding–Phil Henderson down the street, who had also been hit with the pixie attack, had already been registered by his wife as Fifi, and was expecting his first Rottweiler litter next month–not everyone either had access to appropriate studs or were ready for the responsibility. And while Stiles had no sexual interest in humans any longer–even if there was someone John would trust to take care of his urges–Derek could full shift into wolf form, and could NOT get Stiles pregnant. 

“Werewolves can’t breed with dogs or hu-pups, according to Deaton,” Derek had explained. “But in my wolf form I am able to satisfy his…urges.”  
When he’d said that, Stiles eyes at the time had gotten glossy, and he’d muttered how hot Derek’s wolf was, and John had rolled his eyes and quickly agreed, trying to talk over Stiles’ speculation of how long that wolf dick was.

(Whatever filter Stiles had between his brain and mouth apparently had been completely removed with his other transformation. If they went out for an evening walk, he couldn’t stop chattering about the possible prowess of every dog they caught sight of in lurid and offensive details. Hence the need for the muzzle.)

“As long as you can keep him calm, I’m all for it,” John said, shaking Derek’s hand.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to breed Stiles with, when the time comes?” Derek asked, idly, clipping the leash onto Stiles collar. “Deaton says he should breed true with any purebred dog, but he’ll have an affinity for that specific breed, once he catches.”

John had been thinking about it. It was hard not to, since Stiles kept throwing in suggestions about what dogs he’d like to have breed him, usually based on size and dick size, and how well he thought they would fuck him.

“I’m leaning towards chihuahuas at the moment,” he said dryly, and they both chuckled as Stiles growled behind his muzzle.

“Okay, guys,” Derek said, picking up Stiles lead and adding it to the those of the three other hu-pups who had been waiting patiently this whole time. “Let’s hit the road.”

John watched the group march down the sidewalk, Derek obviously in complete control of the pups, and Stiles only looking back once. John was relieved to know his pet was in good hands.


End file.
